


Where Do We Go From Here?

by ACB1



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACB1/pseuds/ACB1
Summary: After learning the truth about who he was, Liz felt unbound, exhilarated and compelled to see him. For her, the revelations she'd received from Dom marked a new beginning, but for Red, they signified something altogether different.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long, long time since I've done this, so be gentle.

Liz made the trip to Hong Kong without thinking beyond seeing him, telling him. She knew. She finally knew who he was, and why he had come into her life. After more than six years and so much heartache and loss and fighting and pushing, pushing, she knew. And, she was bursting with the knowledge Dom had given her. It was bleeding from her pores. She exhaled it with every breath. She'd paced the aisle of the commercial jet that had whisked her halfway around the world, the information lifting her off the ground with every step she took. She knew who he was. And, she mattered to him. She'd always mattered. She knew that. She'd believed it for a long time, but now, she knew her mother mattered, her grandfather mattered. They were all part of something - together. Something frightening at one point and dangerous still, but something. Together. 

When she landed in Hong Kong, she'd gotten a taxi to the restaurant where Dembe told her she'd find him. Yes, Dembe, her confidant and friend, had taken her call, and with some hesitation had shared with her Red's location. Dembe was a part of something, too, and it was not so easy to walk away. Liz knew this. When he'd told her he wasn't with Red and why, she'd felt a momentary slip in her buoyancy. But, then, she told him why she needed Red. That would help things, wouldn't it? She felt certain of it. She ended the call quickly, however, and Dembe's assurances were that she'd find Red, not of anything else. 

Find him she did. He was regaling the table with his tale, but she stopped him. Her mere presence did. But, she barreled forward, commanding him, not playing along for the crowd. She wasn't interested in the goose. Not now, not yet. Her joy did not dampen when he questioned her about the absence of Dembe. It didn't quell when his smile didn't reach his eyes, and his words were tight with (was it) hostility, and his mouth worked its way around short sighs and shorter questions. 

It was only after the goose, succulent to be sure, that she sat back, wine in hand, brain slowed, adrenaline waning and jet lag grabbing hold, that she looked at him. Really looked at him. And the face that stared back at her, one she knew so well and had grown to love, despite herself, seemed foreign. It knocked the contented grin from her face and started her heart racing furiously in her chest. It scared her enough that she sloshed her wine on the tablecloth as she moved forward and tried to place the glass down on the table. "Ilya?" 

"Don't call me that," his voice was low and deep, as he shook his head slowly. His eyes, which looked black in the dim light, were squinting at her, his face pinched. 

She took a deep, shuttering breath. "I'm sorry. What's the ... ?"

"Agent Keen, are you finished?" He cut her off before she could gather the words to express herself. 

"What?" She couldn't look away from him, couldn't think. He'd never looked at her this way before. That was the difference. She'd never seen him look at anyone this way before. 

"If you are done with your meal, shall we leave?"

"Oh. Yes." Her pure happiness was morphing into confusion and not a small amount of concern. Something was very wrong. And, she'd been missing the cues. The profiler in her had gotten lost in the woman.

They left the building and walked to his waiting car, driven now by someone who wasn't Dembe. Red didn't ask where she was going or needed to go. He didn't direct his driver. They just drove - in silence. He was so angry. She knew it now. She felt it radiating from him, suffocating her, sucking all of her remaining pleasure with it. That look. The one that took her breath away minutes ago. It was a look of such ... such. She couldn't think it. 

She turned away from him, needing to catch her breath. She stared out of the window, unseeing, until something caught her eye. The landscape looked vaguely familiar. How could that be? She'd never been here before. Oh, wait a minute. "Where are we going?" Her voice was loud and sharp in the quiet car. 

He didn't turn his head toward her when he said it. He, too, stared out of the window, steadily. "I'm taking you back to the airport. You're going home."

"Oh, no, I'm not," she laughed, sounding somewhat hysterical to her own ears. "I'm not going anywhere. Not without you."

He turned his head then, his eyes meeting hers. There was challenge there and no small amount of pure distaste. She straightened. He would not dictate the terms of this meeting. He would not take away what she'd discovered and what it meant to her. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was self preservation, maybe it was something else she couldn't yet define, but she wasn't going anywhere. Not without him.


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't like this. The way he held himself away from her was disarming. She watched as he tilted his glass, the amber liquid flowing so slowly toward his lips and disappearing into his mouth. She watched his throat move. She wondered if the scotch burned, just a little, going down. 

He hadn't looked at her since they'd arrived at his hotel. Not really. The stare down in the car had felt like a reckoning, though. Neither would back down, not for a long time. Until, finally, the driver, said, "Where to, Boss?" And, they both turned to look out the car windows again, seeing the lights of the airport up ahead. It was then that she broke, her throat constricting and her eyes stinging. "This isn't how I thought this would go," she said, the impending tears evident in her quiet voice. 

"What did you expect," he asked, sounding somewhere between exhausted and exasperated.

"Not this," she whispered. 

In the silence that followed, tears slipped down her cheeks. How could something that had brought her such joy bring him such pain? He had hid himself from her for all these years for reasons she didn't fully understand yet. But the truth was, she didn't need to know those reasons right now. Right now, she was just relieved - in every way. He was alive. He was working with the task force. He was free. And, his real identity was known to her. She had resolved to not investigate his identity any further, but when presented with the information, it had only served to add to her relief. She had thought, obviously incorrectly, that if she could make him see that her knowing was a good thing, then they could all move on. Move forward. She had made mistakes in regards to Red, mistakes she knew would haunt her, but she hoped coming to Hong Kong and showing him that no matter who he was, she was there, that she wanted him in her life, would mean something. Truthfully, she hoped it would bring them closer somehow. She hoped that whatever stood between them could now disappear, and they could forge ahead unencumbered by half truths and lies of omission and misunderstandings. But, she'd misunderstood something along the way, something fundamental. 

The car had stopped, and she felt his eyes on her. His driver opened her door and was waiting patiently for her to get out. 

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned to him - one last time. "I'm not getting on a plane tonight. Just because you've driven me here doesn't mean I'm going to leave. I will get out of your car, though, and I'll find a place to stay for the night. Then, I'd like to talk to you again tomorrow. Maybe, with a little time, we can handle this better." She got out of the backseat and started walking away, toward the airport entrance. She'd just take a minute, freshen up in the airport restroom and find a cab to take her to some nearby hotel. She was weary now. The fight had stolen her whimsy and replaced it with fatigue. She could barely put one foot in front of the other as the sliding glass doors of the airport entrance slid away to welcome her inside. 

She found the bathroom, and once inside she splashed her face with water, scrubbing it dry with a rough paper towel, and then blew her nose on it. She glanced at her face in the mirror. Wow. What a difference a few hours can make. She was so pale, and she looked so ... so sad, so lost. Maybe she would just get a flight back tonight after all. Once she was home - they were home - they could work things out better - on their home turf. But, was that a cop out? She had told him she wouldn't leave without him. But, hadn't he just kicked her out of his car? She balled up the paper towel and tossed it the few feet to the trash can, exhaling loudly, startling the woman who'd just entered the restroom. "Sorry," Liz offered.

It was too much to think about tonight. Just get a room and sleep, she told herself as she exited the bathroom. Figure it out tomorrow. 

She turned toward the ground transportation sign. "Elizabeth."

She spun around, and there he was, his hat in his hand, his overcoat open. She could have wept again at the sight of him, but she did her best to remain stoic. 

"Come back to the hotel," he said, working his mouth in a way that told her of the battle that waged inside him. "If you insist on staying the night, there is no sense in getting another hotel room when I have an entire penthouse at my disposal." 

She welcomed the invitation and the barely detectable thaw she saw in him. It wasn't much, but she'd take it. She nodded slowly. "Okay." 

He gave one quick nod and turned back toward the exit, waiting so she fell in step beside him. 

"Do you have no luggage, Elizabeth?" 

"Um, no. I was so excited that I didn't even think about it. I just ... needed to get here."

"Hmm."

That was the extent of the conversation, and now she watched him as he drank his scotch and stared out at the beautiful city skyline, lit up like Christmas, so bright and cheerful it was. She sat on the sofa and was able to stare at him from an angle, allowing her perusal to be less than obvious. She needed to go to sleep, of that there was no doubt. She was beyond tired, but he fascinated her. Now more than ever. This Ilya-turned-Raymond. He was him, the man she knew, but more. More whole? A man whose story she could know. He was someone who'd given up his chance for his own family, his own marriage, his own children and his own passions to protect her mother and, ultimately, to protect her. It was more than she could fully process. He'd done bad things as Raymond Reddington, too many to count, but why he did them she could better understand. He'd been there for her. He'd nurtured her. He'd made her smile and laugh, more and more as time went on, this man who was new but not. 

She was punch drunk and might regret it later, but she had to say it. "I told you I loved you at the prison. I meant it. It wasn't just an empty sentiment said to a dying man. I meant it, I mean it. No matter who you were, I love who you are. And, maybe you hate me right now. With everything I've done recently, I guess I don't blame you, but I wanted you to know. It's what I came here to say."


	3. Chapter 3

"Maybe you should go to bed," he said, devoid of emotion. He drained his glass of scotch, before letting his arm drop back down to his side. The empty tumbler dangled perilously from his fingertips, dangerously close to smashing to the ground, his hold on it so loose.

"I will in a minute. Can I ask you one question first?" She got up from the sofa then and walked slowly toward him. Her eyes tracking his every movement. 

"If you must." He turned slightly toward her, still avoiding direct eye contact.

"You've watched over me for most of my life. You probably know me better than anyone in this world, better than I know myself. You've protected me, provided for me, forgiven me countless times for my cruelty toward you, my distrust. Will you be able to forgive me this time?" Her voice shook on the last sentence. She'd been strong until then. 

"For this latest transgression? Orchestrating my arrest? Being what amounts to the architect of my almost lethal injection? For involving Dembe in your deceit and betrayal? For your part in my losing him?" The bitterness rolled off of him in waves.

"Yes."

"All to find answers that mean less than nothing in the here and now."

"Those answers mean everything to me," Liz said, as she drew nearer to him. "But, I regret everything that I did to try to get them. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for what I did to you. But, you've always been better than me. You've been able to see beyond the right now, to more clearly see the bigger picture, the possibilities. To see me." 

"Have I?"

"Please," she whispered.

"I can't give you what you want, Elizabeth."

"You can," she nodded, tentatively reaching her hand out for the glass. Her fingers grazed his as she grasped it. Her touch startled him, and he finally turned fully toward her. "I don't want it to shatter," she said quietly, to his unasked question. "You can let go now. I've got it." She took the glass from him and held it securely in her hand.

She paid close attention to the buttons of his vest, as she pressed him: "Is your answer to my question, 'No'?" 

His eyes widened and he sighed loudly. And in a move that would stun her as much later as it would now, he grabbed the glass from her hand and hurled it hard enough into the fireplace to break it into a million pieces. "That is correct." He walked away from her then, leaving her to stare at the sparkling shards of glass.

She didn't follow him out of the room. Instead she stumbled back to the sofa and sat down hard. She rubbed her shaking hands over her thighs. It was hard to swallow over the lump in her throat. Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe through it. He was scaring her in ways he never had before. He was never the one to walk away. He was the steady one, the reliable one, the one who no matter what awful, despicable thing she did or said was still there, still forgave. But, this was proving to be very different. And, she needed to resolve it somehow, to make it right again. She needed to get Dembe back, and she needed Red to know that she would do whatever it took to gain his trust again. It couldn't go on like this. She couldn't live like this. She'd faced losing him, and it devastated her. She couldn't do it again. And, then it dawned on her how the tables had turned. All the feelings she had now - for him, for their lives together, for the future - he had likely had all the time, and she had battled against them at every turn. 

Her thoughts were everywhere, and her stomach churned. Her fatigue and the rich dinner were making her sick. She finally stood up and found an empty bedroom after passing one with the door closed. His room. As she took off her pants and top, she wondered about who he'd been - Ilya. Her mother's childhood friend and confidant. Someone who would do anything for a friend, for a friend's child. As she pulled back the bed sheets and slipped in to its coolness, she thought about the story he'd told her at the prison about his mother understanding the human heart and his choice of meal - the herring. She thought about his father not understanding him, excommunicating him. All of it made more sense now. Ilya - the Russian boy who would become Raymond Reddington, her father, the one she'd killed. Her singular action began the domino effect. 

She closed her eyes. The exhaustion pressing down on her eyelids. She couldn't have opened them again if she'd tried. As she drifted off she was comforted by one thing - he didn't let her go. He could've, he wanted to, but he didn't.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the nice comments and many kudos. It's nice to be back in this fandom again. I've missed you!

Liz slept fitfully, her dreams colliding with reality, until she woke with a start, jarred by a sound outside her door. Her heart pounded. She was momentarily disoriented. Then, she remembered. Hong Kong. Ilya. Red and his anger. The shattered glass. It was still dark outside, and the thick curtains blocked the city lights that surely still gleamed beyond. She got up out of bed to move toward the noise outside her door and banged her knee on the bedside table. "Dammit," she yelped, sucking in a sharp breath between her teeth. Her door opened, just as she sat back on the edge of the bed, grabbing her injured knee. 

"Elizabeth? Are you alright?"

"Yes. I will be. I might have a nasty bruise, but other than that, I'll be fine," she said still looking down at her leg, which she could see more clearly thanks to the stream of light coming from the hallway through her now partially opened door.

Red came close and touched her knee gently. "There's a knot already. We'll get you some ice," he offered, his voice soft and full of concern. His nearness both soothed her and kick started her heart. She smelled the remnants of yesterday's cologne on his warm skin, and her insides melted. Since she’d arrived in Hong Kong, it’s all she’s wanted - to be near him. To feel his gentle strength and kindness directed toward her. To be the recipient of his light banter. To be the audience for his stories told in his deep, melodic voice, lullabies to her needy soul. It was what she'd come to expect from him, and he’d denied her all of this. But she’d accept his kindness now, however she came by it.

He was wearing royal blue pinstriped pajamas under a plush white hotel bathrobe that hung open. She noticed his bedroom attire when she finally looked up at him and smiled, somewhat sheepishly. It was sweet and intimate seeing him like this. It was then that she remembered her own attire, or lack of it. She hadn’t packed anything for this impulsive, desperate trip, and so she’d stripped off her clothes hastily before bed, sleeping only in her bra and panties.

“Oh,” she couldn’t help exclaiming, when her realization collided with pain, as she tried to get up to find her clothes and her knee throbbed. He placed his hands on her shoulders and settled her back down on the bed. “Lie down, Lizzie. I’ll be back in a moment with an ice pack,” he said, leaving no room for discussion.

Liz obeyed, if only to cover herself in the bed sheets. She closed her eyes, not sure if the embarrassment she felt was for herself or him. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, to shine a light on her pushiness and invasiveness any more than she already had. “Oh, Red,” she whispered into the silence.

Moments later he returned, ice pack in hand. She made to sit up, reaching for the pack.

“I said lie back,” he reminded her, pulling back the sheet and blankety revealing her left knee and more than a little bit of the rest of her. He kept his eyes focused on her injury and was slightly turned away from her upper body. The room stayed bathed in silence as he tended to her. She could hear him breathing, and she knew he could hear every inhale and exhale she made; he could see, if he chose to, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, which gave her slight unease away. Lying still was getting increasingly difficult. She needed to act, to do something, but she wasn't sure what. She had him here so, so close, and he was being kind and attentive. Her Red. But, she was so afraid of upending this delicate balance, of upsetting him again. So, she stayed quiet, wanting to prolong her time with him, until she couldn’t take it anymore. Until, she felt she was going to jump out of her skin.

“Red?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve got it. You can go back to bed now.”

He didn’t respond for nearly a full, excruciating minute. Finally, he turned toward her, his eyes resting on the rise and fall of her chest before settling on her face. “You said that earlier,” he mused quietly. “You’ve got it. I can let go. That isn’t going to happen. It’s not so simple. There are things you don’t see and don’t know. By design, by painful, careful design. You knowing who I used to be doesn’t close a door on the past; it swings it wide open, leaving us vulnerable to the wolves outside. This thing you are celebrating? This victory party you had at my expense? It is shortsighted. And when it comes to you, I am never shortsighted. If we are to go on in some manner, you must try to extend to me the same courtesy. This is the quintessential long game, and there are many players. And they are, every one, ruthless. Ilya and Masha? They must never, ever see the light of day.”

“Red?”

“Is this becoming clearer to you?”

“Raymond?”

“This makes nothing better,” he continued, undeterred.

She stopped trying to get his attention with words. She put her hand over his on the ice pack and leaned forward. Then, she placed her arms on his shoulders and, using them as leverage, scooted forward until she could encircle him in her arms fully, pulling him tightly to her. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry. All I want is to be open with you, to really know you after all of this time. Please try to understand. You’ve always known me. Think about if you didn’t. If you never had, not really.”

She felt his sharp intake of breath, and his unrelenting body sagged just a bit against her. He moved his face to bury it further in her hair. “It’s unthinkable.”

“Forgive me, then, for wanting what you’ve always had.”

“Everything.”

“Don’t deny me that. Please.” She moved her lips to his neck, stopping just short of kissing him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback on this little story. It's been much appreciated. It's been fun trying my hand at this again. Maybe I'll add on to this story, but for now, we can call it complete.

She unwound herself from him reluctantly, but with the knowledge that Red had held her. She’d felt him relent against her and fall into the moment. She’d felt him like she never had before, against her naked flesh, and it was tantalizing, it was intoxicating. But there was something she didn’t know and was afraid to ask, so she released him. She needed some distance before she embarrassed herself more than she already had. 

“Lizzie? What is it?” He’d loosened his hold on her, but he hadn’t let go as she had.

“Nothing.”

He pulled back, looking at her face, searching her eyes, his hands gently gripping her waist. “It’s not nothing.”

“Do you want me to make us some tea? We’re both awake at this ungodly hour, so ...” She shrugged her shoulders and looked down at his pajamas, tracing the pinstripes with her eyes.

“That sounds fine, but first, what’s on your mind?” He moved back then, releasing her, his hands leaving her body, taking their warmth with them. 

“Red, please,” she stopped, unsure now what she was asking for. When she looked up, his head was tilted, and he was looking at her as he once had, with such care and affection. She hesitated because she wanted that look and all that it meant. She needed it, she realized, even as she feared it would be taken away for good because of all she’d done. But she needed to know something first, so she licked her lips and sighed, knowing her question would end the moment. “Will you hand me a robe from the closet?”

Her request seemed to break him from a spell, to release them from their cocoon. And, she hated herself for her weakness. “Of course,” he said, rising from the bed. He returned holding out the plush white hotel robe, the same type he now wore. “Turn. Let me help you. Let’s give your knee a few more moments before you try to get up,” he said.

Her knee. She’d forgotten all about her damn knee. “Sure,” she said quietly, clearing her throat. She held her arms slightly behind her as he slipped the robe up her arms. Then, he came around and pulled it tight around her chest, one of his hands grazing the swell of her breast as he did, causing her to shiver and draw in a sharp breath. He didn’t acknowledge her reaction, and she was grateful. 

“Better?” He asked after a few moments.

“The robe is fine. Thanks.”

“I meant your knee,” he said, jutting his chin toward it. The ice pack had numbed it enough that she felt sure she could stand. She needed to get up before this, or she, got more awkward. 

“Let me see.” And she made to get out of bed. His arms slipped around her again, to help her stand. She placed her hands on his biceps and pulled herself up, putting only a little weight on the injured leg. His left arm moved around her waist when she upright, and he helped steer her out of the bedroom.

They made slow progress to the kitchen, where Red guided her onto a barstool, and then insisted on making their tea himself. Once it was done and her hands were around the warm mug, he asked his question again: “What’s the matter?”

“Aside from our major identity issue at the moment? And your anger and distrust of me?” She answered sarcastically.

“Yes. Aside from that.” His voice had taken on the low, honeyed tone that she found so hard to resist, and he’d pushed his stool closer to hers. He knew just how to get what he wanted out of her, didn’t he? She shook her head slightly and clicked her tongue. 

“Tell me, Lizzie.” And the pet name she secretly loved. He really wanted to know. And she had no intention of telling him. He was pulling out all the stops, though. His hand reached for hers, his fingers grazing her knuckles.

“I can’t.” So, she went for honesty. “It’s too shameful.” 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

She laughed then, genuinely. “You don’t even know what it is. You have no idea what’s wrong.”

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea.” He nodded, his fingers still tracing her hand.

“You don’t. You can’t.” She started to pull her hand away, but he gripped it solidly in his before she could.

“I loved your mother. She was my oldest and dearest friend, and when she asked me to watch out for you, I did not hesitate. When the worst happened, and she could no longer be there for you, I stepped in. I relished the duty, the joy I took in watching you grow is unexplainable. I loved you then. As a distant guardian loves his charge. But, when I stepped back into your life, your mother had been gone for years, and you were a woman. Oh, the feisty little girl still lurked, but you had become a fierce, brave, beautiful woman. A woman Katarina would be so proud of.” He stopped then - giving her time to process, to catch up. 

“I loved Katarina as a friend, a wonderful, loyal friend. But, only as a friend.” 

Her eyes met his then. For a moment she couldn’t speak. When she finally could, her voice was quiet but determined. “I’ve told you I love you, but you’ve never said it back. That’s okay. I know things are difficult with us right now. I know what I’ve done, but, Red, do you? Do you love me? Now, after everything?”

She felt so desperate asking, but she was. She was desperate. She needed to know, if at least to get her through the difficulties of their current situation. 

He had started rubbing the inside of her wrist, over her scar, slowly and methodically. His head stayed bowed over her hand for too long, and her heart sank. It was too late. She’d realized too many things too late. Whatever his answer, he was alive, and that was all that mattered. She would be okay so long as he was alive. No matter who he was or what he felt about her, he was free and alive, and she’d told him of her feelings. She could watch him walk away now and be okay. 

She felt a tug on her hand and looked up, her eyes betraying a devastation her internal monologue couldn’t dim. He was staring at her intently now. 

“I do,” he said. 

Her mouth opened, and she shook her head as if to clear it, to make certain. “Tell me,” she whispered.

“I love you, Elizabeth. Now and always. Nothing you do will ever change that.”

The deep relief she felt came out in a rush of breath that had her almost caving in on herself. “Thank you,” she answered on a strangled sob. 

He stood then and wrapped his arms around her properly. She pressed her face into his chest and breathed him in. He kissed the crown of her head. “We’ll make it. Give us time, sweetheart.”


End file.
